i wasn't afraid the first time. i traded her kisses for hello kitty stickers and orange juice and
let her wipe my scrapes when i got hurt,

snot dribbling, innocent, when i was four my mother still
held the tissue to my nose while i blew,
i remember being impressed that she could put her own hair up.

i remember in the summer of '05 my grandma gushed about her on our birthday, she's gonna be five years old she said, she's gonna be a whole hand's worth of years she said, extending her

bruised fingers and shoving them in my face while i recoiled,
all five of them glimmering, waxy, iridescent like her
varicose veins in the june sunlight,

i wasn't afraid the last time either. i couldn't even feel it by then,
i folded back my eyelids to make her giggle and
let her put my hair up for me

(because my hands were only four years old and stubby,
i couldn't hold barrettes and big-girl cups
among other things)